‘Monstrous!’ Bevier gasped.
‘Political expediency, Sir Knight,’ the ambassador explained. ‘An ordinary man has only one wife, but the emperor has to have one from each kingdom in the empire. He can’t really show favouritism, after all.’
‘It looks as if one of the empresses forgot to finish dressing,’ Baroness Melidere said critically, staring at one of the imperial wives, a sunny-faced young woman who stood naked to the waist with no hint that her unclad state caused her any concern. The skirt caught around her waist was a brilliant scarlet, and she had a red flower in her hair.
Oscagne chuckled. ‘That’s our Elysoun,’ he smiled. ‘She’s from the Isle of Valesia, and that’s the costume – or lack of it – customary among the islanders. She’s a totally uncomplicated girl, and we all love her dearly. The normal rules governing marital fidelity have never applied to the Valesian Empress. It’s a concept the Valesians can’t comprehend. The notion of sin is alien to them.’
Bevier gasped.
‘Hasn’t anyone ever tried to instruct them?’ Emban asked.
‘Oh, my, yes, your Grace,’ Oscagne grinned. ‘Churchmen from the Elene kingdoms of western Tamuli have gone by the score to Valesia to try to persuade the islanders that their favourite pastime is scandalous and sinful. The churchmen are filled with zeal right at first, but it doesn’t usually last for very long. Valesian girls are all very beautiful and very friendly. Almost invariably, it’s the Elenes who are converted. The Valesian religion seems to have only one commandment: “Be happy”.’
‘There are worse notions,’ Emban sighed.
‘Your Grace!‘ Bevier exclaimed.
‘Grow up, Bevier,’ Emban told him. ‘I sometimes think that our Holy Mother Church is a bit obsessive about certain aspects of human behaviour.’
Bevier flushed, and his face grew rigidly disapproving.
The courtiers in the throne-room, obviously at the emperor’s command, once again ritualistically grovelled as Ehlana passed. Practice had made them so skilled that dropping to their knees, banging their foreheads on the floor and getting back up again was accomplished with only minimal awkwardness.
Ehlana, gowned in royal blue, reached the throne and curtseyed gracefully. The set look on her face clearly said that she would not grovel.
The emperor bowed in response, and an astonished gasp ran through the crowd. The imperial bow was adequate, though just a bit stiff. Sarabian had obviously been practising, but bowing appeared not to come naturally to him. Then he cleared his throat and spoke at some length in the Tamul language, pausing from time to time to permit his official translator to convert his remarks into Elenic.
‘Keep your eyes where they belong,’ Ehlana murmured to Sparhawk. Her face was serene, and her lips scarcely moved.
‘I wasn’t looking at her,’ he protested.
‘Oh, really?’
The Empress Elysoun had the virtually undivided attention of the Church Knights and the Peloi, and she quite obviously was enjoying it. Her dark eyes sparkled, and her smile was just slightly naughty. She stood not far from her Imperial husband, breathing deeply, evidently a form of exercise among her people. There was a challenge in the look she returned to her many admirers, and she surveyed them clinically. Sparhawk had seen the same look on Ehlana’s face when she was choosing jewellery or gowns. He concluded that Empress Elysoun was very likely to cause problems.
Emperor Sarabian’s speech was filled with formalised platitudes. His heart was full. He swooned with joy. He was dumbstruck by Ehlana’s beauty. He was quite overwhelmed by the honour she did him in stopping by to call. He thought her dress was very nice.
Ehlana, the world’s consummate orator, quickly discarded the speech she had been preparing since her departure from Chyrellos and responded in kind. She found Matherion quite pretty. She advised Sarabian that her life had now seen its crown (Ehlana’s life seemed to find a new crown each time she made a speech). She commented on the unspeakable beauty of the Imperial wives, (though making no mention of Empress Elysoun’s painfully visible attributes). She also promised to swoon with joy, since it seemed to be the fashion here. She thanked him profusely for his gracious welcome. She did not, however, talk about the weather.
Emperor Sarabian visibly relaxed. He had clearly been apprehensive that the Queen of Elenia might accidentally slip something of substance into her speech which would have then obliged him to respond without consultation.
He thanked her for her thanks.
She thanked him for his thanks for her thanks.
Then they stared at each other. Thanks for thanks for thanks can only be carried so far without becoming ridiculous.
Then an official with an exaggeratedly bored look on his face cleared his throat. He was somewhat taller than the average Tamul, and his face showed no sign whatsoever of what he was thinking.
It was with enormous relief that Emperor Sarabian introduced his prime minister, Pondia Subat.
‘Odd name,’ Ulath murmured after the emperor’s remarks had been translated. ‘I wonder if his close friends call him “Pondy”.’
‘Pondia is his title of nobility, Sir Ulath,’ Oscagne explained. ‘It’s a rank somewhat akin to that of viscount, though not exactly. Be a little careful of him, my lords. He is not your friend. He also pretends not to understand Elenic, but I strongly suspect that his ignorance on that score is feigned. Subat was violently opposed to the idea of inviting Prince Sparhawk to come to Matherion. He felt that to do so would demean the emperor. I’ve also been advised that the emperor’s decision to treat Queen Ehlana as an equal quite nearly gave our prime minister apoplexy.’
‘Is he dangerous?’ Sparhawk murmured.
‘I’m not entirely certain, your Highness. He’s fanatically loyal to the emperor, and I’m not altogether sure where that may lead him.’
Pondia Subat was making a few remarks.
‘He says that he knows you’re fatigued by the rigours of the journey,’ Oscagne translated. ‘He urges you to accept the imperial hospitality to rest and refresh yourselves. It’s a rather neat excuse to conclude the interview before anyone says anything that might compel the emperor to answer before Subat has a chance to prompt him.’
‘It might not be a bad idea,’ Ehlana decided. ‘Things haven’t gone badly so far. Maybe we should just leave well enough alone for the time being.’
‘I shall be guided by you, your Majesty,’ Oscagne said with a florid bow.